


After the Rite

by Combination_NC



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Combination_NC/pseuds/Combination_NC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris prepares to carry out Anders' last wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Rite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pollencount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollencount/gifts).



> Written for a picture by pollencount on tumblr.

The look in Anders’ eyes is wrong. There is no spark, no defiance, no _life_ , only amber dullness. His voice is wrong as well, completely devoid of passion. He speaks so calmly now, in a manner that chills Fenris to the bone both due to his tone and the lack of his old expressions. He used to have so many; little crooked half-smiles, _pouts_ and eyebrows moving as if in response to the mage’s feelings. And now there are none, and Fenris is not sure if he can even call him _mage_ any longer. With no way to reach the Fade, with _all_ kinds of magic gone from inside him, is he still a mage at all?

And how can someone without feelings look so haunted?

He has gotten so thin lately, his cheeks hollow and eyes sunken in, making them appear so much bigger, making the uncharacteristic emptiness even more apparent.

Is there anything of _Anders_ left at all? With no spirit, no more yearnings, no magic and no drive, is there anything left of _him?_ If Fenris brought him a kitten, would he react at all? Would there still be cooing, smiles and nuzzling of soft fur, heart beating with quiet delight?

Fenris will not try. Not when he already knows the answer.

There have been times before when he has wished for the mage to be quiet for once, but not like this, _never_ like this, not to have him reduced to someone who will only speak when spoken to, or acted against.

“There is no reason to get undressed,” he had said, when Fenris, horrified by the blood stains on the front of his robe, had torn it open to inspect the damage, to find deep marks that must have been self-inflicted, perhaps a desperate attempt to claw his own heart out; he will never know, because Anders will not be able to tell. The Tranquil, he has been told, does not dwell on their lives as they were before they had their foreheads branded. It is too small a mercy.

He knows that Anders, as he was before, wanted a friend compassionate enough to kill him.

Fenris is not compassionate, but because he was more than a friend, he will give him this one last thing even if he is no longer able to desire it.

He cannot stand to look him in the face when there is nothing of _him_ left there. So he strokes his jaw one last time, then moves behind him to press his forehead against the back of his neck and rest his hand over Anders’ heart.

After seconds that seem to stretch out into an eternity, he activates his markings to sink his hand in, to touch his heart in the only way that is possible now. When he closes his fist around it, it is not the only heart that he crushes.

The corpse he gently lowers to the ground is more Anders than the Tranquil body ever was.


End file.
